


The Secret Stitch Remains Secret

by anarchycox



Series: Witcher Bingo Card Prompts [23]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Apologies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soft Witchers, The road to Hell is paved in good intentions, jaskier is going to fix it, jaskier realizes how much he had been hurting geralt, witchers do fiber crafts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27379534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/anarchycox
Summary: Jaskier finds out that Geralt knits, he is shocked and confused why he didn't know this. And when he finds out why, he realizes just how wrong he has been doing Geralt over the years.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Bingo Card Prompts [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746034
Comments: 54
Kudos: 458





	The Secret Stitch Remains Secret

**Author's Note:**

> for apologies on my bingo card.
> 
> my last bingo prompt - thank you so much for reading all of these tales

Jaskier was wandering through the market in Novigrad, he was to meet up with Geralt in a couple hours at the Passiflora where the witcher was taking part in a gwent tournament. Jaskier was doing some shopping, poking about for a pretty thing or two because Novigrad had paid them both quite well, as it often did. He was humming a bit as he wandered the stalls. He found a few bits of jewelry, a rather absurd and delightful hat, and a gorgeous pair of boots. He was headed to the brothel, when a stall caught his eye. “That is incredible work,” he said eying the scarf. The wool was natural colour, a fawn brown and the scarf was intricately woven, the pattern in it crisp lines that crossed each other. He held out a hand and was handed it. Geralt often complained about the cold in fall but he loathed wearing a cloak. “Oh,” he realized the scarf was wide enough to wind and be a hood. “How much?”

“30 crowns,” the woman said, recognizing that he was in love.

Jaskier snorted and they both enjoyed the bargaining that went on, and he left the scarf in hand. He meandered to the brothel, and found Geralt sitting at the bar, and Jaskier could tell just from his shoulders that Geralt had been fairly successful. Jaskier sat next to him and the madam poured him a glass of wine. “I didn’t spend all our money,” Jaskier said before Geralt could ask. “Not even half.”

That got him a nod of acknowledgment and they had a couple more drinks and then left Novigrad. They decided to room at the seven cats that night, and Jaskier played a few songs but no one was especially interested, including himself. Instead they drank, and retired to their room early. “Fuck?” Jaskier asked.

“Meh,” Geralt was cleaning swords, “I’m good right now.”

“The love is gone,” Jaskier teased.

“You don’t smell interested,” Geralt pointed out.

“I am not,” Jaskier admitted. Geralt tended to weapons, and Jaskier worked on a song and it was quiet and companionable and quite nice. They had been together long enough that they were just happy when the other was near, and didn’t need to fuck every hour alone. Jaskier smiled to himself, generally it was now every other hour or so. He wrote a bit more and reached into his bag for another quill and felt something incredibly soft. “Fuck, forgot I had bought you a gift?”

“Crossbow wouldn’t fit in there,” Geralt grunted.

“Why would I buy you a crossbow?” Jaskier frowned, “I wouldn’t even know what to get you.”

“Pity, I like crossbows.”

“I have literally, in 18 years, seen you use one about 5 times, and three of those was you throwing the whole crossbow at a creature.” Jaskier shook his head. “No, but it is practical, I have learned my lesson on not practical gifts.”

“I told you, I didn’t mean to lose that bracelet,” Geralt looked up from his work and Jaskier shook out the bundle in his hands. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Jaskier rolled his eyes. He stood up and wrapped the scarf around Geralt’s neck. “I knew it would look amazing on you.”

“Of course it does, Lambert doesn’t make crap,” Geralt went back to his work.

That gave Jaskier pause. “I’m sorry?”

“For not buying me a crossbow? I forgive you.” Geralt went back to his dagger, but he kept the scarf off, which suggested he didn’t hate it which was nice, but still.

“Geralt, you said Lambert doesn’t make shit. Does that mean that Lambert made that scarf?”

“No, of course not, his stitches are not this crisp, but he made the yarn.” Geralt put the dagger away, and set to repairs on his armor.

“I don’t understand,” Jaskier sat on the bed. “I am very thoroughly confused.”

“How is that different from normal?” Geralt continued his repairs and eventually took the scarf off, as he clearly grew a bit too warm. He also was clearly done with words that night, and Jaskier wasn’t going to push. He had learned that Geralt only had so many words in him in a given day, and if he pushed on one day, it was likely that the next three the man would be quiet. Years to realize that it wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to Jaskier, it was just that so many decades on the path alone, he was unused to talking. Words sat heavy on his tongue. Jaskier sometimes wondered in those winters at Kaer Morhen how quiet they are - perhaps even weeks of silence. It would kill him. One of the reasons he had never pressed to journey with Geralt for the winter.

Also the man had never asked.

Jaskier let the matter rest for a few days, and when they were both mellow after some very excellent sex by their fire he decided to bring it up. “So Lambert spins yarn?”

“Mmm,” Geralt yawned and fell asleep. So perhaps that was a bit too mellow.

The next day during their travels, Jaskier decided to bring it up, “I would have never thought from your stories that Lambert had the patience to spin yarn.”

“Not his preferred part of the process, but Eskel busted his hand and he had to do it for a couple weeks so we didn’t get behind schedule. He’s actually quite good, just likes carding and dyeing more.”

“Schedule?” Jaskier looked at him. “Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you…knit?”

“Yes, of course,” Geralt shrugged while riding and Jaskier would have asked more but bandits ran down from the hill and attacked them. Once they were done looting the corpses they decided to stop for the night. “You are quiet.”

“Geralt, you told me you knit, that is a lot to take in,” Jaskier looked at him. “I’ve never seen you.”

“It is in the winter, it occupies the time, and we sell the wares in the village at the base of the mountain, to get us decent coin for starting on the path. It was part of our training.”

Jaskier’s world view was completely shifting. “You knit.”

“Weave for the most part, actually,” Geralt said. “Vesemir used to work the loom the most, but I have found it soothing the last few years.” Jaskier watched him yawn and then Geralt crooked a finger. “Do you want to talk about wool, or do you want to fuck?”

Dammit, that was a difficult call, but the firelight was highlighting Geralt’s jawline and he was smiling softly and it made the decision an easy one. Jaskier dropped on top of Geralt and forgot all about yarn. He didn’t bring it up again until a few weeks later when Geralt was wearing the scarf as the wind howled. Jaskier was always amused by the way that Geralt liked to announce the weather; he was pretty sure that Geralt didn’t even know he was doing it. “Why have you never told me that all winter you are not clashing swords and pummeling each other but instead sitting around the fire buried in fiber craft?”

“Because -” he was reading the notice board in a village but there wasn’t much, not as winter slowly started to approach and people didn’t like to spend the little coin they had.

“Because why?”

“You’d ruin it,” Geralt answered easily and continued walking like he hadn’t just cut Jaskier off at the knees. He headed out of the village and it took a while for Jaskier to catch up. Geralt seemed confused by the delay but didn’t say anything. Maybe he thought Jaskier stopped to buy something or fuck someone - anything but the fact that he had gutted Jaskier. “Lean pickings tonight,” Geralt warned.

“Fine.” Jaskier was quiet until the moon was high. “How would I ruin it, Geralt?” He looked up at the man and it hurt in a way Geralt hadn’t hurt him in a long time, since before they had changed who they were to each other. “Why would you think that?”

Geralt looked at him in confusion, clearly surprised that Jaskier could even ask that, “Because of all the things you’ve already ruined in my life?”

Jaskier wished the man would just stab him with the steel sword next to him. “I ruined your life.”

“Yes?” Geralt seemed to think this was no big deal to say and when he moved next to Jaskier, Jaskier scooted a bit away. “Jaskier?”

“I have done nothing that ruins your life, I’ve made it better. Villages now welcome you where before they spit on you,” Jaskier’s voice was hoarse with holding back tears. “I have tended your wounds, I have loved you for half my life!” Jaskier curled in around himself.

“And the whole continent knows of that love, any bed partner I take knows where each scar comes from without me saying a word. How long until your songs sing of our craft with more than blade?”

Jaskier glared at him. “I wouldn’t!”

“Yes, you would,” Geralt replied. “I asked you not to sing of the siren hunt, two years later I hear it from a different bard’s lips. I ask you to not sing of our relationship and maidens talk of the beauty of our romance. I tell you again and again, not this, and eventually you press enough I agree tired of the fight, or you let enough time go by and figure at this point I won’t care anymore.” Geralt’s gaze hurt so much. “So I kept this from you because I didn’t want it betrayed.”

“Excelling at craft like this is nothing to be ashamed of, what you scared how villagers would react. They’d be impressed!”

“They don’t get to have this,” Geralt growled. “They get so much of me, they get my arm, my sword, and likely my life. You’ve given them my heart, laid it out for everyone to see. They don’t get my family time, my comfort. I am proud of the work we do, but do you think it will sell as well when they know witchers make it? The women we sell it to, enough to get us started, they sell if for double, their families covered through the winter - do you think they would still be if you sang of it?” Geralt shook his head. “You sing of this, you take away one of the few things that is still mine.”

“I won’t,” Jaskier swore. “I swear I won’t.”

“Like you swore you wouldn’t sing about this scar, how we fuck, how I sometimes don’t take pay when it involves children? Is it as good as all those promises?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt, and realized that for all that he thought Geralt was the one to hurt him over the years, he had been causing Geralt indescribable pain, all for his own ends. “I’m sorry.”

“Sure you are,” Geralt smiled, “I don’t mind, I know you won’t change for me. When has anyone? Want to fuck?”

“No,” Jaskier shook his head. “I’m not quite in the mood right now.” He watched Geralt shrug and go lie down. Jaskier thought through the years and of all the times that he had waved off Geralt’s requests that he not sing about a thing. He had done it because it was for Geralt, to help his reputation, and it had. Even bit improved it, so he did it more. Romance ballads won competitions which lined their pockets. And he was a witcher, if Geralt had really objected he would have shouted, waved a weapon, punched Jaskier. But he hadn’t, so Jaskier had kept on trampling over Geralt’s requests.

And it had been so long that Geralt just accepted that. Jaskier stood up, “Be back in a moment.” Geralt grunted, figuring Jaskier was going off to take a shit. Instead Jaskier walked until he was certain that Geralt wouldn’t hear him and threw up everything that was in his stomach. He pressed his forehead against a tree. Shortly some dry heaves hit and he was just broken; ugly tears, gasping, all poured out of him and he bit his arm so that he didn’t scream. 

He broke skin.

Jaskier had no idea how long he had been away from camp, but knew he had to return. He took a few slow breaths and wiped at his cheeks. It wouldn’t hide it from Geralt, but it made him feel better. He made it back and lay down. Geralt looked at him but didn’t say anything. “I swear, I won’t,” Jaskier whispered.

“Of course,” Geralt smiled, ran a hand along his jaw. “And when you do, I won’t leave you. Too used to you now.”

“I know you don’t believe me, but I am going to change everything.” Jaskier closed his eyes and didn’t let himself move closer to Geralt - he certainly did not deserve comfort, but when the man pulled him close, Jaskier didn’t object.

Jaskier guided their travels a bit, never asking Geralt about the needlecraft, but perhaps their journey took them to places with the best sheep and therefor incredible fleece that could be squished into the bottom of the bag. Dried flowers for dye, extra lye, anything he could think of, he willingly carried in the extra pack he had bought. And not a word crossed into song. 

“Since you now know, you could come with me this winter?” Geralt offered and while Jaskier didn’t think he was worthy of that trip, he could see the hope in Geralt’s eyes and wouldn’t deny him that. The journey was unpleasant but the crumbling keep magical.

“Am I allowed to sing about Kaer Morhen?”

“Not the location, but…the idea of it?”

“I can very much work with that,” Jaskier promised. He fell shy as he finally met Geralt’s family and they were exactly as he described. There was a lot of work the first few weeks and he helped where he could. And he didn’t see a single bit of work of yarn or weaving. 

And then the first storm crashed down from the skies. The air in the keep was different and there was a room he hadn’t seen yet. Fires were lit and he saw looms and spindles and kettles and things he had no words for. Vesemir started to speak, an ancient poem that Jaskier had studied in university. Lambert settled into the corner and started pulling apart the fleeces with wicked looking combs. Eskel opened a chest and there was clearly prepped fleece in there and he sat on a very high stool and started to draft the fleece. Geralt went into another chest and brought out some yarn. A bit he kept for himself and some was passed to Vesemir. Vesemir started to warp the loom and Geralt picked up needles and began to knit.

They were settled and completely at peace. Even after sex he had never seen Geralt as relaxed as this. They were all luminous. “Vesemir may I?” Jaskier asked when Vesemir finished the poem. 

“May you what?”

“Recite for you?”

“If you like,” Vesemir replied and they were all clearly tense. But that old poem had had a particular rhythm to it, one they were working to, and Jaskier smiled and chose a similar poem from a similar time. He recited all he could from memory until he saw Vesemir shake out his hands and that seemed to be a bit of a signal that they were done. Tools were tied, just as armor and swords were, and the work put away. A dram was had by the favoured fire in the main hall and once in their room, they had incredibly slow and gentle sex.

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt, one of the times when the man wanted to be cuddled. “That was beautiful.”

“It is…peaceful,” Geralt said after a time. “Everything quiets. Even Lambert.”

Jaskier chuckled at that. He kissed Geralt’s head. “It will be my pleasure to recite for you while you work.” He could feel Geralt’s smile.

The winter was boring for Jaskier, he wasn’t going to pretend it wasn’t, but it was never boring when he watched the fierce witchers settle into their quiet work as they called it. Over the course of the winter Vesemir was on the loom less and Geralt was settled into it and it was a true pleasure to watch him weave. By the spring thaw there was a credible pile of both delicate and sturdy work to be sold at the village. They were all watching him. “I know, what you think, but I swear I will not ruin this.” Jaskier gave them a bow. “On my honour as a Viscount.” Lambert snorted at that, which fair. “On my love for Geralt.”

“That I will believe,” Vesemir said.

They went down at separate times and Geralt and Jaskier parted, Jaskier itching for the city. He ran into old friends who were surprised and happy to see him, and he explained he had spent the winter in the witcher’s lair. There were cheers and cajoles for stories.

“They must have incredible secrets there,” Priscilla urged, “Share - you know you want to.”

And he very much did. He smiled at them. “Let me sing you a tale of the sex dungeon that I was a willing prisoner of.”

When he met Geralt a couple months later, Geralt quirked a brow. “I would like to talk to you about my sex dungeon.”

Jaskier leapt into his arms. “Talk away.”

“You didn’t -”

“No, I promised,” Jaskier kissed Geralt’s jaw. “I know a few months after everything isn’t enough to prove it to you, but this promise I will keep. Just you wait and see.”

“I will,” Geralt agreed. Jaskier didn’t go to Kaer Morhen that winter, and when Geralt came down the mountain, there were still no songs of witchers and yarn. He brought Jaskier fingerless gloves he had made for the bard, so he could have some warmth and still play. 

“I will keep my promise until the day I die, my love.”

“I believe you,” Geralt said and Jaskier knew he meant it. “Now can you stop singing about my dick?” Jaskier just gave him a look. “Yes, you are right that was asking a bit too much.”

Jaskier smiled and never once sang about Witchers who spend their winters in creation, since their summers are swaths of destruction. The world didn’t get that part of them, but Jaskier did, and that was worth keeping the secret for. 

**Author's Note:**

> stay tuned for my second bingo collection - this time all squares are movie quotes!


End file.
